The Pace of Tefillah: In Defense of the Daily Minyan - the People Who Show Up Every Day

Rabbi Barry Kornblau recently shared this Facebook post, which garnered a great deal of attention about the breakneck speed of the morning minyan. The post contained a chart of different speeds at which we speak, and the length of time it would (or should) take to recite the entire Tefillah. Here's the chart:

Rabbi Kornblau wrote:

This Shabbat, my sermon noted that my upbringing in Reform Temple Beth El of Great Neck properly taught me, among other things, one basic halachah: the requirement to recite all one's prayers and blessings with feeling and understanding. One cannot do this while reciting the siddur at the speed of an auctioneer (daily amidah of 3 minutes, for example) as is routine for many Orthodox Jews; instead, one must speak slowly and enunciate deliberately - as is fitting for addressing the Master of All.

The post prompted a lively discussion, much of which centered on complaining about the speed of the daily minyan in most shuls. Over the years, I too have joined this chorus of complainers, wondering how people say "all the words" so quickly. My conclusion was usually that they don't.

I would like to offer some push back.

The chart makes no distinction between the various segments of Tefillah. Using a simple word count, the chart calculates that Amidah, at 824 words, should take about a third as long as Pesukei D'zimra, which clock in at 2,064 words, and Kriat Shema, at 248 words, should take a full minute at "slow auctioneer" pace. Nowhere does the chart note that Pesukei D'zimra is halachically considered customary at best, the Amidah is D'rabanan (according to many poskim), while Kriat Shema (at least the first paragraph) is a D'oraita - a Torah commandment. It seems reasonable to me that the halachic significance of a specific section should have some impact on the speed at which it is recited.

Moreover, as my friend David Brofsky notes in a comment to the post,

Aside from conversation taking into account the other person, most of davening is not a conversation, but rather, reflective statements. In other words, WE are the audience of pesukei dezimra, shema, ashrei, etc. Whether or not that means we should say these passages quickly, or very slow (as a meditation) is an interesting question, but they are not similar to a conversation (maybe closer to the audio book..) 

Psukei D'zimrah (as well as most of birchot Kriat Shema and much of the concluding portions of Tefillah) focus on Divine praise. On the other hand, Amidah is supposed to represent a conversation with God, while Kriat Shema focuses on our acceptance of the heavenly yoke as well as other elements of our faith. While it's certainly preferable to praise God with feeling and intent, it is obligatory to recite Shema with focus and concentration, and Amidah must be recited with focus - and with the personalization that transforms prayer texts into true worship. (Also, the chart completely ignores Korbanot, which seem to be ignored in modern shuls, but some of which have greater halachic significance than much of Pesukei D'zimrah. See Peninei Halachah here for more information.)

Personally, I have no problem with speed-reading (or "auctioneering" through Pesukei D'zimrah) if that means that a person spends more time on the more important parts of davening. I would love to see a siddur in which the importance of the prayer is reflected in font size and number of pages, giving the user the sense of importance of each section.
Moreover, Rabbi Kornblau's initial point - his comparison to his Reform upbringing, is flawed for a simple reason. Reform Judaism has cut out much of davening, leaving just enough prayer to allow people to focus and concentrate.

Just look at the amount of words that one must recite in the daily prayer, not including the additional Tachanun on Mondays and Thursdays. A commenter on the post noted that there's a "kavanah" minyan one Sunday a month in Teaneck which takes seventy minutes. On a Sunday (actually the best day to take a long time to daven).

As Rabbi Brofsky noted, we're not talking about having a conversation at all. We're reciting texts, that don't change. Imagine trying to do that in English, day after day. Just recite the US Constitution (4,543 words) day after day, without fail, for your entire life. How long could you do it? How long would it take before people were flying through it, skimming or speed-reading or auctioneering? (Answer: Not long.)

I have spoken to many people about this issue, many of whom have said privately (and quoted rabbis and scholars) that they almost never recite all of Pesukei D'zimrah. Or that they haven't recited Kedushah with the community in years. The "unspoken" secret is that it's a mouthful - a lot to say - and perhaps we should be a bit more forgiving of people who either don't say it all, or say it faster than you or I think they should. Today, I don't feel that it's realistic to expect most people to spend 70-90 minutes in meditative prayer each morning.

In a recent episode of This American Life, host Ira Glass opened the episode describing his visit to shul to recite Kaddish for his mother.

And it was the anniversary of my mom's death. And we're Jews, so you're supposed to go say Kaddish, this old prayer that's one of the central prayers in Judaism at the anniversary of somebody's death. And so my dad, and my stepmom, and I were at one of the daily services that observant Jews go to every day in Baltimore where I grew up.
And I always liked going to synagogue as a kid. We went a lot. And so it was nice going back. I know all the Hebrew prayers by heart. And [LAUGHS] I don't know if this is good or bad, but not having sat in a synagogue in over a decade, it really hit me how every day is a rerun.
Do you know what I mean? They never do a new episode. Every day, the same words, same songs in the same order, stretching back hundreds of years. They read a new part of the Bible, part of the Torah some days. So there's that, but all the rest basically exactly the same every day.

We don't give the standard "daveners" who come each and every day enough credit. Prayer is clearly important, and of course focus and concentration are critical. But there's also great value in showing up; in being part of the minyan, day in and day out. In saying the word and being part of the prayer process.

I sometimes get the feeling that people often criticize the daily minyan from the outside: "I don't go because it's too fast." Or, "They don't say all the words anyway. How much can it really mean?" It means a lot - even if they do say it very, very fast. Because the people who get up and make it to minyan each day - which is a Herculean effort in my mind - are doing something that the vast majority of observant Jews are not: they're showing up.

They're showing up so that everyone else who wants to has a place to say kaddish. They're showing their sense of allegiance to the community in a meaningful and tangible way. They're actively engaged in an act of prayer and devotion to God - even if they don't really understand many (if not most) of the words.

And when those times come in life when they really do need that prayer and connection - and those times come for all of us, they already know where to go and what to do, because for their entire lives they've been showing up.

Praying for Rain in an Age of Desalination

The Chief Rabbinate has issued a directive to add Anenu (an additional prayer for rain) to our shemonah esreh. This makes perfect sense and follows a long line of halachic tradition, from the Mishnah Taanit down through the Shulchan Aruch. Rain is a critical element, fundamental to human life. When periods of drought threaten, we must cry out to God and beseech Him for mercy to bring the necessary rain. While it has rained a bit, it hasn't been nearly enough, and halachically, this call is a response to a crisis situation.

Except it's not. There is no water crisis here in Israel. With four major desalination plants online producing vast quantities of fresh water at very reasonable prices, the country is not in any crisis at all. We've gotten no directives to cut our water use in any way. No one has even asked us to cut the watering of the lawn, nor have water prices risen. There is no water shortage.

So we're left with a situation where we're supposed to recite a prayer of supplication and anguish, of great need due to a technicality, where there really isn't that great of a need.

This is not meant as a criticism of the Chief Rabbinate - far from it! It's an expression of a sense of frustration from a disconnect between ritual and reality. Sure, Jews around the world will add Anenu. But will that translate into religious fervor? Will the words reflect any real feelings?

Is it better to add something to davening when it will just be one more paragraph that you don't really feel strongly about? How does this affect our connection with the rest of our davening?

There are many, many things about which we need to cry out to God. A terrorist stabbed a security guard yesterday. Hamas shot rockets this week. The Israeli government decided to subsidize televisions rather than education yesterday.

But until the Water Authority tells me to take shorter showers and stop watering my lawn, we don't have a water shortage. Why then are we praying like we do?

Persistence

Each of us, in our own way, suffered – and continues to suffer – as the slow passage of time edges us away from the horrible murders in Har Nof. In an age of instantaneous media, the images are now firmly etched into our psyches: of blood stained tallitot and siddurim; a lifeless hand still wrapped in Tefillin. I haven’t tried to make sense of the events in my own mind because I know that any such attempt would represent an exercise in futility. There is no sense to be made in abject hatred. There’s no logical explanation, no legitimacy possible for the murder of Talmidei Chachamim as they pray Shemeh Esreh. But there is a response; not a military or police response. Those tasks are left to others. Rather, our response must follow the response of the residents of Har Nof, who undoubtedly did what those four scholars would have insisted they do; what they would have done themselves; what we all did:
They got up in the quiet of the morning and went to daven. In shul.
Daily minyan isn’t one of the more glamourous aspects of Jewish life, but it might very well be its anchor. A shul – any shul – no matter how many members it may boast, no matter how many outside scholars it welcomes, no matter how lavish its kiddushim may be – is only as strong as the daily minyan. The act of rising, each and every day, to try and commune with God before (and after) the day begins together with the larger communit, represents both an individual dedication and desire to live a pious life, together with a recognition that we find our great religious meaning not in the bombastic moments of exciting ritual; not in the Bar Mitzvah or wedding, and not even only in the passion of the Yamim Noraim; but in the rigor of repetition of ritual, day in and day out. It is the daily davening and the daf yomi that makes us who we are. Without them, we lack the bedrock foundation that gives us both strength and a true, deep-rooted connection to God.
This week, terrorists, knowingly or not, attacked this bedrock of Jewish living. They were probably looking for the easiest target available, but in that effort focused on people who dedicated their very existence to maintaining this anchor of the Jewish condition, not only through prayer, but through their ongoing, ceaseless devotion to Talmud Torah, built over uncountable hours of study in the Beit Midrash, again invested without pomp or fanfare or nary a Facebook post or Tweet. It was these attributes of Judaism that were attacked in that quiet shul in Jerusalem: a dogged persistence to prayer, a steadfast devotion to Torah study, and an untiring dedication to religious ritual that has sustained the Jewish nation through two millennia of exile.
Thus, the most fitting response – the only response – is exactly how the people of Har Nof, of Jerusalem – of Jews throughout the world – did indeed respond. We went back to shul that night, and the very next morning. We maintained our vigil. We make it clear, each and every day, that no matter how many of our enemies rejoice and celebrate at the sight of murdered Jews, no matter how many candies they distribute or garish cartoon they publish, we will continue to rise early each morning to reestablish our relationship with God.
This vigil – the persistence – represents the strongest reason why those Jews are now living in Jerusalem, in Har Nof today. For thousands of years, Jews have risen each and every morning to pray to God: ולירושלים עירך ברחמים תשוב – “return us to Jerusalem, Your city, in compassion.” ותחזינה עיננו בשובך לציון ברחמים – “May our eyes witness Your return to Zion with compassion.” After so many centuries of heartfelt prayer, someone, armed with the divine blessing of God, decided that it was time to transform those prayers into reality. God returned, and so did we.
It was that persistence that brought us here, and it’s that very same persistence that will keep us here. So, the morning after the murders, Jews across Jerusalem, and around the world, rose early in the morning once again for daily prayers. We were all a little heartbroken, a little at a loss for words. But we went to shul, because that’s what we do. We didn’t do it to tell our enemies anything. We didn’t do it to send a message. But, in our daily acts of devotion, we do indeed broadcast to the world in a loud, clear voice: We aren’t going anywhere.

Audio Shiur: An Overview of Tefillat Yom Kippur

Audio Shiur:
Audio Shiur: An Overview of Tefillat Yom Kippur

General themes built into the Tefillah of Yom Kippur.

Click here to navigate to the shiur on YUTorah.org.

Click to play the Shiur (or right-click to download)

What to Pray for During Times of War, and What Not to Pray For

As the Gaza War continues, I've made two short lists of what to pray for, and what not to pray for.

What to pray for:
1. The safety, success and victory of our soldiers
2. The health of the injured
3. Praying for individuals who I know of: I have been slowly gathering names of relatives of people who I know are in Gaza. The son of a coworker (אלון בנימין בן שרון), the husband of a vendor (יואב בן יהודית), the son of a coworker's neighbor (חגי בן חנה). It helps me when to pray not only for "everyone", but when I know that these are sons, fathers, husbands, with real names.

What not to pray for:
1. Peace
What? Not pray for peace? How is that possible?

The Minchat Elazar

In Rav Rafi Shtern's weekly email (contact him directly sternr111 at gmail dot com if you'd like him to add you to his list), he included a quote from the responsa Minchat Elazar from Rav Chaim Elazar Shapira, the second Rebbe of Mukatch, who was asked about what to pray for during the first World War. He wrote,

"לאשר אנו רואים כי אלו המלחמות הם חבלי משיח... העיקר להתפלל על הגאולה שלימה במהרה בימינו, לא כן ההמון שהטעו אותם שצריכים להתפלל עתה העיקר רק על 'שלום העמים' ושעל ידי זה יופסק המלחמה ישוב למצרים הוא הגלות המר... ומאריכים הגלות ומעכבים הגאולה... וכמ"ש בספר הזכרון להגאון החת"ס זצ"ל (מהד' תשי"ז עמ' נג) כי אם נתפלל על השלום הרי זה עיכוב הגאולה וכמו שאמרו חז"ל 'מלחמה נמי אתחלתא דגאולה הוא... רק שנרבה בתורה ובתפלה... נתפלל רק על הגאולה ולא נחוש על המלחמה כלל, עכ"ל החת"ס...." (ועיין דרכי חיים ושלום עמ' רי"ג ואילך).

As we see that these wars are the birth pangs of the Messiah...the essence is to pray for Complete Redemption quickly in our days, not like the masses who have been misled to think that the essence of what we must pray for now is, "Peace among the nations". For through this the war will stop, and we will return to the anguish of the bitter exile...and those people extend the Exile and delay the Redemption...as it is written in the Sefer HaZikaron of the Chatam Sofer (5617 edition page 53). "For if we pray for peace, this hinders the Redemption, as our Sages said, 'War is also the beginning of the Redemption...' Rather, we must increase prayer and the study of Torah...and we must pray for the Redemption and not concern ourselves with the war at all."

It's not enough to pray for peace. We pray for the Ultimate Peace. Praying (or working)  for an "immediate cessation of hostilities", doesn't make things better. It just delays the peace for which we truly yearn.

Hilchot Siren During Tefillah

What do you do if a siren sounds while you're davening Shemoneh Esreh? The following is a translation of a short guide issued by Rav Rafi Shtern of the Bar Ilan University Kollel.

1. There are several types of interruptions during Tefillah: (1) Walking (2) A non-verbal interruption (3) A verbal interruption

2. There are a number of different types of interruptions: (1) an intentional interruption (meizid) (2) an unintentional interruption (shogeg) (3) a coerced interruption (ones) by thieves or wild animals (4) a coerced interruption (ones) due to the individual or the location (i.e. he needs to use the restroom, or the location becomes unfit)

3. There is sometimes a difference for the purposes of psak whether the interruption is long enough that a person could "complete the entirety" of Shemoneh Esreh (irrespective of if the person happens to be at the beginning or end of Tefillah), and whether the interruption was for a shorter period of time

4. In our discussion of an interruption due to a siren, we assume that such an interruption is similar to "a coerced interruption by thieves or wild animals" (ones)

5. Walking (without speaking) due to coercion is not considered an interruption

6. Therefore, regarding a person who hears a siren during the silent Amidah and walks to a protected space (without speaking): If the interruption was for a brief period (=less than the time it would take him to recite the entire Amidah) - then he should continue his Amidah from the place he stopped. But, if the interruption was for an extended period (=longer than the time it would take to recite the entire Amidah) - then he must return to the beginning of the Amidah.

7. If he not only walked, but also spoke: If his speech was "under coercion" (ones - e.g. he had to instruct the members of his family to go to the safe room), then if the speech was extensive enough that he could have completed the entire Amidah then he must return to the beginning of the Amidah; but if he spoke only briefly, he continues from where he stopped.
If the speech was not coerced or necessary, he must return to the beginning of the Amidah.

8. For an interruption at any other part of tefillah (pesukei D'zimra, Shema, etc.) one should continue from where he was interrupted.

May our prayers be heard and bring us all safety and serenity!

The Double Tragedy of the Murder of Max/Menachem Stark

If it had been the plot of a movie, the ADL would have coordinated demonstrations outside the movie studio: A Chassid slumlord, beloved and cherished inside his community, reviled by the business associates he has cheated and stolen from. Except, tragically, the story is true, sad on so many levels: for his family, of course, robbed of their father and husband; for a community dependent on his many acts of kindness. But it's also tragic in larger way, as the publicity this case has generated serves as a massive chillul Hashem.
Rambam, (Laws of Teshuvah Chapter 1) defines the desecration of God's name as the worst form of sin. How does one achieve atonement for this type of sin? He explains,

אבל המחלל את השם--אף על פי שעשה תשובה והגיע יום הכיפורים והוא עומד בתשובתו ובאו עליו ייסורין, אינו מתכפר לו כפרה גמורה עד שימות, אלא תשובה ויום הכיפורים וייסורין שלושתן תולין ומיתה מכפרת...

One  who desecrates the Name [of God] - even though he repented and Yom Kippur arrived and he maintained his repentance and he endured suffering, he does not achieve complete atonement until he dies. Rather, his repentance and Yom Kippur and his suffering are suspended, and [only] death atones...

This, of course, only applies to Chillul Hashem that one caused during one's life. How then can one possibly atone for Chillul Hashem, if the vast majority of that desecration comes after you're no longer in this world? While we cannot know the answer to these questions, the very thought of them causes me to shudder.
Yet now, thanks to the New York Post, the Jewish community will probably not ask the most important question in this triple-tragedy: How is it that supposedly righteous people see such a clear dichotomy between their personal and religious lives, and their business affairs? Menachem Stark was a beloved ba'al chessed. Max Stark was a despicable slumlord. Sure, we all wear the mask of the stranger to some degree. But the point of Judaism must be to unify and solidify ourselves into a greater whole - into people of personal, spiritual and religious integrity.
This isn't just about Menachem/Max Stark. It's a question about ourselves.
Numerous Jewish sources highlight the critical importance of integrity in religious life. Each morning at the very beginning of Shacharit we pray, "לעולם יהא אדם ירא שמים בסתר ובגלוי" - "a person should fear heaven both in private and in the open." The Pri Chadash writes that the phrase means that we must fear God in private in the same way that we fear God in public. He suggests that the original source of this phrase is a story found in the Gemara in Brachot (28) which describes of Rabban Yochanan ben Zakkai, lying on his deathbed, surrounded by his students.

אמרו לו: רבינו, ברכנו!
אמר להם: יהי רצון שתהא מורא שמים עליכם כמורא בשר ודם.
אמרו לו תלמידיו: עד כאן?
אמר להם: ולואי! תדעו: כשאדם עובר עבירה אומר "שלא יראני אדם"

They said, "Our Master - bless us!"
He said to them, "May it bill the will [of God] that the fear of heaven should be upon you like the fear of flesh and blood.
His students said, "That's all?"
He told them: "You should achieve that much! Know that when a person sins, he says [to himself], 'that no one else should see me'".

Judaism demands not just prayer and study and righteousness in the religious sphere, but spirituality especially in the world outside the shul and Beit Midrash.

The same section of the Gemara also tells the story of Rabban Gamliel and the test he gave in order to gain access to his Beit Midrash. Anyone who was not תוכו כברו - "whose inside was the same as his outside" - was not permitted to study. Ultimately, when Rabban Gamliel was demoted, they opened up the study hall to anyone who wished to enter, and literally hundreds of students entered to study.
Yet, we seem to have forgotten Rabban Gamliel's essential message. He wasn't interested in teaching externally pious Jews. If you wanted to study with Rabban Gamliel, he wanted to know that you would internalize the Torah you studied and assimilate into your very essence; that you would personify the Torah in your behavior outside the study hall, and not just wear it on your sleeve (or hat).
Every one of us lives this dual life to some degree. We are not, during the rest of the year, the pious people we are on Yom Kippur. And I hope that we act in shul and in the Beit Midrash better than we do on the street.
But I hope that it's not that much better. I pray that we don't so disnegage our religious and personal lives that we're Menachem Stark in shul, and Max Stark at the office.
Yet, with the focus of the Jewish world now firmly zoomed in on the NY Post and its hateful cover, it seems likes that this issue will surely be lost, making it all the more tragic.

The View from Here: On Iran, Rosh Hashanah, and What We Can Do About It

This might sound strange to the average American, but I’m not entirely sure that we know or feel the situation in Iran any more than you do. With instant global communications, we’re reading the same websites and watching the same news. I daresay that in America, the Jewish community might be more aware of the Israel-Iran issue, and more frightened. Of course Iran comes up on the news here. But there’s also other local news that doesn’t make it to the English-language press. Try the following experiment: check out the English version of Ynet, and then the Hebrew version. The English version almost always deals with security issues; the Hebrew one almost always leads with local Israeli news. I just tried it now. English site headline: “Panetta: US has only 1 year to stop Iran.” The lead story on the very same site, but in Hebrew? “White House: Obama has no time in his Schedule for Netanyahu.” 

That’s not to say that Iran isn’t a concern; of course it is. But like Jews do around the world, we here live our daily lives, worried about the normal things that occupy our time: our jobs, the economy, getting the kids to sleep and the laundry done. At least for now, we’re not talking about an imminent threat; we’re discussing whether Israel should take action to prevent Iran from becoming an imminent threat.

So, at least personally, I don’t really walk around worrying about Iran. I certainly don’t walk around carrying a gas mask. I walk around worrying about gas prices.

What, then, can and should the American Jewish community be doing about the Iran threat? I have two thoughts. 

As we all know, when Yaakov Avinu prepared to face Eisav, he did so in three ways: he sent gifts to Eisav; he split the camp preparing for a fight, and he prayed. In other words, he prepared to fight; he engaged in diplomacy (the gifts), and he turned to the רבונו של עולם.

In my view, the American Jewish community can and must play a role in each of these critical areas:

• Diplomacy and fighting: American Jews won’t fly the planes, and neither will I. But American Jews can and must play an active role in the American political process to ensure that Israel has the very best planes to fly, and has the diplomatic backing of the American government behind it, without which those planes might not get off the ground. Israel enjoys incredible support in the halls of Congress. But let us not imagine for a moment that we can take that support for granted. It’s the result of decades of work that many in the Orthodox community haven’t engaged in. I’m a big believer in the work that AIPAC does, and I’ve seen the power of its work firsthand. If ten percent of the people hearing a drashah about Israel on Rosh Hashanah this year committed to become more involved in AIPAC, not just by giving money, but by getting involved in this coming year’s election, Israel would enjoy a better, stronger position to deal with Iran.

• Tefillah: Obviously, this isn’t just the domain of Israelis. We all must pray for the wellbeing of the Jewish State. I heard a talk last week from the Rishon L’tzion, Rav Amar, who emphasized the special need for tefillah this coming year. Noting that Chazal explain that ה' withheld children from our אמהות because ה'  is מתאוה לתפילתם של צדיקים, Rav Amar suggested that the current Iran crisis demonstrates that ה' really wants us to call out to Him; to pray with passion and fervor for the safety and security of the Jewish people.

One final point: the Gemara in Brachot (4a) wonders: if God had promised Yaakov והנה אנכי עמך ושמרתיך בכל אשר תלך – why was Yaakov so afraid of Eisav? After all, he had God on his side! The Gemara answers that Yaakov never doubted God’s ability to protect him. Yet, אמר, שמא יגרום החטא – “he said, perhaps the sins that I have committed will cause [me to lose God’s protection].”

In the end, we place our trust in the Master of the Universe. Yet, will we merit God’s divine protection? That’s really up to each and every one of us. Each of us has the power to raise the merit of the Jewish people, or, God forbid, lower it. Whether we value that power and take measures to protect and cherish it is up to us.

Is Exercise Before Tefillah Permissible?

I run regularly, and have been logging somewhere between 12-15 miles per week for years now. (I'm almost reached "purple" on NikeRunning - about 30 miles to go!) I run to try and keep a handle on my weight, but even more to keep myself sane. Running helps me stay balanced and in control, and is something I make sure to keep doing on a regular basis.
The problem, especially in the summer, is that it's hot. Really, really hot. And in Yad Binyamin, which is essentially the coastal plane of Israel, its especially hot, reaching the mid-90's (F) regularly during the day. You can either run late at night, or even better, early in the morning - very early, which I've been doing for much of the summer. But you have to run really early, before the sun gets too high in the sky and the air grows too hot. By 8am, it's just too late to run at all during the summer months.
So I've been getting up early - a little after 6:00am to run. The air is just cool enough to breathe, and I can cool down and shower and, if I'm lucky, make minyan by 8:00am (and if not, there's always 8:30).
Then, a couple of weeks ago, a member of the community approached me with a question. He too needs to work out regularly - although he prefers swimming. (It seems that when he lived in Gush Katif he would snorkel regularly in the early morning in the ocean and would allow himself to do so with the rationale that the ocean is essentially a mikveh, and his immersion is halachically acceptable before tefillah. But now, his swim would be in a pool and wouldn't count.) He noticed me running in the morning, so he wondered about the halachic basis for my practice. Why would I be allowed to run before davening?
His question becomes even stronger in light of a statement of the Gemara from this week's Daf Yomi where the Gemara (Brachot 14a) states:

אמר רב אידי בר אבין אמר רב יצחק בר אשיאן אסור לו לאדם לעשות חפציו קודם שיתפלל שנאמר (תהילים פה) צדק לפניו יהלך וישם לדרך פעמיו: 

R. Idi b. Abin said in the name of R. Isaac b. Ashian: It is forbidden to a man to do his own business before he says his prayers, as it says, Righteousness shall go before him and then he shall set his steps on his own way.

It's pretty clear from the Gemara and the halachic rulings that follow, that a person must place prayer as the first priority in his daily schedule. First pray to God and then do everything else. The Shulchan Aruch rules:

אסור לו להתעסק בצרכיו או לילך לדרך עד שיתפלל תפלת שמונה עשרה (ויש מקילין לאחר שאמרו מקצת ברכות קודם שאמרו ברוך שאמר וטוב להחמיר בזה) (תרומת הדשן סימן י"ח) ולא לאכול ולא לשתות אבל מים מותר לשתות קודם תפלה בין בחול ובין בשבת ויום טוב וכן אוכלים ומשקין לרפואה מותר:

A person is forbidden in engaging in his needs or traveling on the road until he prays Shemonah Esreh (some are lenient after he recites some of the brachot that are said before Baruch She'amar, and it is proper to be stringent in this matter - Terumat Hadeshen 18) and not eat or drink. Yet, [drinking] water is permitted before Tefillah both during the week and on Shabbat and Yom Tov, and eating and drinking for medicinal purposes is permitted.

The ruling seems rather strict: no eating, drinking - not even the study of Torah is allowed - before one prays to God.
Indeed, to me the ruling makes intuitive sense. A religious individual starts his or her day by first acknowledging God's presence and influence in her life. That faith and devotion sets the critical tone for the rest of the day, and is a cornerstone of a spiritual life. What we do first, at the beginning of the day, says everything about us: our priorities and attitudes about the way we live our lives.
With this background, is there any wiggle room to permit running, or any type of exercise, before engaging in daily prayer?
Actually, there is. Piskei Teshuvot, a compendium of responsa written pretty much over the last century, has a nice summary of the various reasons that a person would want to engage in all sorts of activities before prayer:

• Can you engage in tzedakah before davening or acts related to Chesed? Yes?
• What about helping get your kids out to school? Rav Shlomo Zalman Aurbach allowed it.
• How about buying minor food items (i.e. milk and bread) to get said kids out to school? Again yes.

So, there is some amount of wiggle room to allow for a certain level of activity before prayer. What about running and exercise? Piskei Teshuvot (O.C. 89:15) quotes Rivevot Ephraim who likens exercise to eating for medicinal purposes, which the Shulchan Aruch explicitly allows. He allows "running for medicinal purposes or exercising in the water, for someone who requires this activity for medicinal needs, and anything similar to this..." (see footnote 190) He also quotes Sefer Tefillah Kehilchatah in the name of Rav Shainberg who allowed exercise for health, explaining that this is no worse than eating or drinking which Shulchan Aruch allows, but only "if there's a justifiable reason" for exercising before prayer.
Moreover, one can and should combine this with the leniency of Rema, who allows one to engage in forms of activity after reciting birchot hashachar - morning blessings. Then, you're combining the fact that you have indeed offered words of prayer with the leniency of health concerns.
This leaves us with two questions: is it absolutely necessary to run before davening? Theoretically, I could get up and daven vatikin, at sunrise, and run afterwards. That's hasn't really happened thus far. Is my inability/unwillingness to get up at 5am to run a mitigating factor which will allow me to run before I daven? Secondly, all of the sources discuss exercise for "refuah", which generally refers to someone in rehabilitation, or someone who requires exercise on the advice and counsel of a doctor for a specific malady. While I don't know any doctor who would not advice regular exercise, does my need to run regularly rise to the level of "refuah"?
I think so, but I could see someone disagreeing.
In any case, hopefully the staggering heat will dissipate soon and I can get back to running at a normal hour.

Shortening Shabbat Davening - What Are We Praying For? (Second in a Short Series)

Continued from this post.

Rabbi Efrem Goldberg of the Boca Raton synagogue recently asked on his Twitter feed (which I follow via Facebook):

How would u shorten shabbos morning davening within halachik boundaries in an effort to make it more enjoyable and meaningful?

In my last post, I addressed the challenge of adehering to frum culture, which prevents us from making substantive changes to the format of davening, no matter how legitimate or critical they may be. In this post, I'd like to address the problem underlying the question. What's wrong with Shabbat davening, and why should we want to shorten it?
Of course, the real question isn't how to shorten Shabbat morning davening. Everyone knows how to do that. Just look at every hashkamah minyan in the world. If you cut out all the singing, every misheberach, and all the speeches, you can cut davening down to a nice and tidy hour and forty five minutes. It's not rocket science.
What I believe that Rabbi Goldberg means is: how can we change the main minyan so that it's shorter, without paring it down to a bare-bones minyan that lacks resonance for many people. Are people really looking for hashkamah at 9am instead of 7am? That's not that hard to supply. Many shuls already have an 8am "beis medrash" minyan. Yet, I suspect that they're looking for a "main minyan" feel, without it going on for three hours. That's harder. Where do you cut and still maintain a sense of community, majesty and meaning?
But before we can really cut anything, the issue of shortening davening on Shabbat raises a deeper, more perplexing question that goes to the heart of Orthodox communal prayer. On some deep level, Shabbat davening doesn't resonate with many of us. Sure, we say the words. But given the choice, would we pray for the things that Chazal tell us to pray for exclusively on Shabbat? Are we really yearning for the "eternal Shabbat" that we pray for so fervently? To me, the problem of Shabbat davening reflects a deeper problem we struggle with surrounding the content of Shabbat prayer as Chazal designed it.
I have long felt that the Shabbat davening isn't really the best venue for a truly meaningful communal prayer the way that most American Jews expect it. Most people want to come to shul to grapple with the issues that they're struggling with. They want to pray to God for a good job and the ability to support their family. They want to pray for safety and security for the people of Israel. They want to pray for health and well-being. All of those things exist in traditional prayer, but not on Shabbat. They're right in the Amidah - of the weekday.
Three times daily throughout the week we communicate with God, asking for that which we need to live more meaningful lives: wisdom, Torah, forgiveness, redemption, health, well-being, sustenance. You name it, it's in the Amidah.
Perhaps ironically, on Shabbat, we specifically do not pray for our daily needs. We don't really daven for health, sustenance, parnassah - all the things that concern us during the week. On Shabbat we're supposed to let go of our daily worries, and focus on the more eternal issues. Even when we add the misheberach for the sick, we conclude the prayer by saying, שבת היא מלזעוק, וישועה קרובה לבוא - "on Shabbat we are prohibited from crying out, and salvation is near to come." It's almost as if we say, "Really, we know that we're supposed to ask for health today, but we're all here, and so we're going to do it anyway."
If anything, a careful examination of the Shabbat morning davening reveals efforts to try and insert meaning into the davening "between the lines" - in the spaces between the established parts of davening set by Chazal. The Misheberachs (that everyone hates - until it's time for their Bar Mitzvah) cater to the personal needs and joys of the individual. The yearning and power of the first paragraph of birchat Hachodesh express all of the elements normally missing from the Shabbat davening, as we pray for God's blessings during the coming month. Finally, the addition prayers for the State of Israel, the IDF and the United States of America, all reflect efforts to add necessary meaning and depth to the established davening that we find lacking.
If I was designing the davening today to reflect the needs of the members of a Western-cultured Orthodox community, who by and large does not assemble on a daily basis for prayer but only assembles communally on Shabbat morning, highlighting these elements would have to play a major role in the davening.

In my last post on this issue, I'll (finally) make some suggestions, reflecting the needs and desires of the people who still attend the Shabbat morning main minyan.

Shortening Shabbat Davening - The Problem (First in a Short Series)

We love to think that this is a picture of "them".
But it's more like us than we're willing to admit.

Years ago, I heard about the amazing popularity of one of the Mega-Churches led by a famous pastor (I think that it was Joel Osteen), and wondered what he could possibly be doing to draw fifteen thousand people to a service on a weekend. So I decided to watch some of a service (available online) to see what I could pick up.
Truthfully, I didn't watch much. (I think that I was either bored, uncomfortable, or both). But at the beginning of the service, the pastor led the entire congregation in a recitation that they clearly repeated each and every week. I don't remember it word for word, but I remember that they all picked up their bibles, and declared their allegiance to the word of God, faith in the Bible and in God, and asked for the wisdom and blessing to find the answers that they were looking for through prayer and study.
I was astounded. There it was, so simple, in a sense. People are looking for a sense of faith. They want to reach out to a Divine God they know they cannot comprehend, but need to reach out for in any case.
Watching that video, a sense of frustration welled up inside me. All of those elements exist in Orthodox Judaism. The Torah offers all that, and more. And yet, how many people leave davening on Shabbat morning feeling that, they really spoke to God that morning, that they had a religious experience, and that they left davening with a greater sense of faith than when they came?
What would have happened hjad I tried to institute such a custom in my shul, where before Torah reading everyone picked up their Chumash and declared, together in unison, in English (which people understand),

"Hashem, this is the book that You gave to us through our prophet, Moshe. It contains the one and only truth. Please grant us the wisdom to seek guidance through the Torah. Give us comfort through its words, guidance through its commandments, and connection to You through its holy light. Amen."

I can say without a shadow of a doubt that I would have been laughed out of shul. No one would join me. The first week I'd get uncomfortable stares. The second week, a few might participate, but most would not. And I'm sure that by the third week, there'd be a hastily organized meeting with the shul's senior leadership to "discuss" sudden changes to the davening. It wouldn't be considered "frum" at all. Maybe Conservative. Maybe Reform. But certainly not Orthodox.
That's a tragedy, because we actually do say those very things throughout the tefillah: וזאת התורה אשר שם משה לפני בני ישראל. And this is the Torah that Moses placed before Israel." קדשנו במצוותך - "Sanctify us in your commandments." וטהר לבנו לעבדך באמת. "Purify our hearts to serve you in truth."
Somehow, when we translate all that into English and recite it together, it becomes less frum. And by removing these types of communal prayer experiences that would give many, if not most Orthodox Jews - who don't speak fluent Hebrew - true spiritual experiences, we rob them of a meaningful prayer experience that they badly need.

Rabbi Efrem Goldberg of the Boca Raton synagogue recently asked on his Twitter feed (which I follow via Facebook):

How would u shorten shabbos morning davening within halachik boundaries in an effort to make it more enjoyable and meaningful?

Shortening davening? Easy. A little harder is the second clause: "Within halachic boundaries." Still, with some creativity and finesse, finding halachic solutions is possible. But Rabbi Goldberg did not include the most important clause, which he perhaps assumed, but I believe cannot be taken for granted: "Which would be accepted by the Orthodox community."
That's a much tougher nut to crack. Because we can design a wonderful, meaningful service, that reflects the needs and desires of the broad majority of today's Main Minyan crowd.
But if they think that "it's not frum" and won't implement the changes, what have we really accomplished?

I have some suggestions to make that might help. Before I make them, in my next post I'll outline what I believe is the problem underlying the challenge of Shabbat morning davening. Finally, I'll suggest a number of changes that I believe are clearly within the boundaries of halachah, but will most probably be considered too radical to institute, and therefore ignored.

The Prayer for Rain: Still Relevant?

The location: The Spolter home, West Hartford, CT
The date: August, 1999, Shabbat morning, around 7:00am
The situation: Rena is nine months pregnant with the child that would be Bezalel, and labor pains have begun in earnest.

This being our second child, I was calm and collected. As soon as we decided that it was time, I picked up the phone and called the cab company.
"Hi, we're having a baby, and I need a cab to get to the hospital." That's when things started to get a little dicey.
"OK," said the operator. "I should have someone available to come out to you in about forty-five minutes." That didn't seem like such a good idea.
"Forty five minutes?! My wife is in labor!"
Sadly, the cab company operator was not in a position to conjure up a cab for me, as there weren't a huge number of cabs floating around the sleepy town of West Hartford on a Saturday morning. I started getting nervous, and hung up the phone.
I wandered outside, probably hoping that I could flag down a passing cab. No, it didn't make sense. We did not live on Broadway in Manhattan. But what else could I do? It was then that Linda, our neighbor, noticed me. (She was "walking" the dog in her backyard.)
"Is it time?" She was well aware of Rena's condition. "Is there anything we can do?"
Actually, there was. We needed a ride. Linda was happy to wake up Chuck, her husband, who drove us to the hospital in our car, which he then drove back home.
Linda and Chuck were wonderful neighbors. We didn't know them that well, but we did know that they were devout Catholics, and every so often we'd discuss light theology. That Shabbat morning, the talk turned to original sin and epidurals.
Chuck and I wondered aloud about how we were to understand the meaning of בעצב תלדי בנים - "With pain you shall bear sons," (Chava's sin for eating from the forbidden fruit), in light of the modern development of epidurals and relatively pain-free childbirth. Were we in some way escaping Divine will by bearing children without pain?
Rena was having none of it. Sitting in the back of the car enduring contractions of ever-increasing frequency and intensity, she had heard enough theology for one childbirth: "Will you guys shut up and just get me to the hospital?!"
The rest of the ride was considerably quieter.

I remember this story as we once again begin reciting the phrase ותן טל ומטר לברכה during Shemonah Esreh.
Here in Israel we begin praying for rain in earnest on the 7th of Cheshvan. Jews in the Diaspora wait to make the change until December 4th, something I never quite fully comprehended. Something about the rain in Babylonia.
Here we really need the rain. It's a matter of livelihood, economics, and prosperity. We need the water to plant the fields to drive the economic engine of Israel (and feed the population, although around here they've been planting cotton lately.) Rain is so critical to survival that it plays a prominent role in the Shema. If we follow the commandments, God promises that, ונתתי מטר ארצכם בעתו - "and I will give the rain of your land in its proper time." The Torah describes the Land of Israel in terms of its dependence on the Divine desire to produce rain.

כִּי הָאָרֶץ, אֲשֶׁר אַתָּה בָא-שָׁמָּה לְרִשְׁתָּהּ--לֹא כְאֶרֶץ מִצְרַיִם הִוא, אֲשֶׁר יְצָאתֶם מִשָּׁם: אֲשֶׁר תִּזְרַע אֶת-זַרְעֲךָ, וְהִשְׁקִיתָ בְרַגְלְךָ כְּגַן הַיָּרָק. יא וְהָאָרֶץ, אֲשֶׁר אַתֶּם עֹבְרִים שָׁמָּה לְרִשְׁתָּהּ--אֶרֶץ הָרִים, וּבְקָעֹת; לִמְטַר הַשָּׁמַיִם, תִּשְׁתֶּה-מָּיִם. יב אֶרֶץ, אֲשֶׁר-יְהוָה אֱלֹהֶיךָ דֹּרֵשׁ אֹתָהּ: תָּמִיד, עֵינֵי יְהוָה אֱלֹהֶיךָ בָּהּ--מֵרֵשִׁית הַשָּׁנָה, וְעַד אַחֲרִית שָׁנָה

For the land, whither thou goest in to possess it, is not as the land of Egypt, from whence ye came out, where thou didst sow thy seed, and didst water it with thy foot, as a garden of herbs; but the land, whither ye go over to possess it, is a land of hills and valleys, and drinketh water as the rain of heaven cometh down; a land which the LORD thy God careth for; the eyes of the LORD thy God are always upon it, from the beginning of the year even unto the end of the year.

God designed the Land of Israel specifically to need rain; He wants us to pray for the rain, to yearn for His benevolence and sustenance and support. The rain forms a critical part of the religious and spritual structure of life in Israel.
Exept now, does it really?
Sure, right this moment, we need the rain. But Israel has rightfully taken critical measures to ensure that the Jewish State's water needs will be met for the forseeable future. In an article in this week's B'sheva newspaper, Professor Uri Shani, the current and outgoing head of Israel's water authority says that in just 3-4 years, we'll see a significant change in Israel's water situation, which should prevent crises with regard to water in Israel, as major desalination processing plants come online.
Clearly, this is an amazing, critical development, which provides the State with needed water, security and self-reliance. And I'm also not naive nor dismissive of the power of, and need for prayer. We clearly still need the rain, and always will.
But as our ability to provide for our water needs grows, does our dependence upon God in some way wane? Are we somehow fundamentally altering our relationship to God and the need for rain by using technology to provide for ourselves?
In truth, I don't think so. We turn to God for so many different needs - safety, security, health, economic prosperity - the list is endless.
But will we still pray for rain when we can produce all the water we need on our own? I don't know.

Audio Shiur: Parshat Va'etchanan 5770 - What are We Listening For?

Audio Shiur:
Parshat Devarim - Living with Faith

The first chapter of Kriat Shema appears in Vaetchanan, and this seemed like a great opportunity to focus on the deep, critical message of the Shema. What should we focus on as we recite the Shema, and how is that connected to the Syms (the computer game, not the clothing store) and Wired Magazine?

Click here to download the shiur, or here to navigate to the shiur on YUTorah.org.